


Any Which Way

by NoSarcasmForYou



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2020-01-15 02:44:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18489691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoSarcasmForYou/pseuds/NoSarcasmForYou
Summary: As per family tradition, Illumi is expected to become a patron of something anything really, but he hasn't found the right activity just yet; Will a random encounter with a colorful and violent street fighter change this?





	1. I Can't Decide

It all started, like most things in Illumi’s life, with a family tradition. 

 

Laundering dirty money wasn’t an easy feat, particularly when it came to Zoldyck money. They had found various ways of doing it, of course, but it wasn’t _easy_. 

“Legit” businesses, “charitable” donations, all kinds of investments, lobbying here and there, house flipping. They had done it all, and yet, perhaps their most famous ‘contribution’ to the public sphere was the Zoldyck’s tradition to sponsor or even manage sports teams, dancing companies and athletes. 

Each member of the Zoldyck family was expected to become a patron at some point in their life. It was a way to legitimize the money earned from their contracts, sure, but it was also a way to make a name for themselves _outside_ of the family business and to establish new connections outside of their normal circles. 

Maha had a chess master. Zeno his own soccer team. Silva was a well-known patron of a shooting olympics team; Kikyo was the proud patron of an entire ballet company. Killua had a small, but promising, skateboarding team and even Milluki had managed to make it big with his own esports team. 

Kalluto was far too young to participate in the tradition, and Illumi… 

Illumi had a problem. 

Namely, the fact that he had yet to find a sport or activity he liked enough to invest his money and time in. 

He just wasn’t interested. He liked being a hitman, he was _good at it_ and, if it were up to it, he’d dedicate his every waking moment to that. 

 

It wasn’t up to him. 

(What else was new?)

 

Every week, he’d be asked if he had _finally_ found an activity to support and every week he’d have to prove himself a disappointment by saying no. 

 What made things worse was the fact that he _did_ try to “find an activity”, which meant that far too often he found himself in sports events, dance shows and other kinds of ridiculous entertainment, despite the fact that he could’ve been doing something more productive with his time. 

Football? He’d rather shoot himself in the foot. 

Tennis? He’d rather gouge out his own eyes. 

Basketbal? He could hardly think of anything more boring. 

Golf? The idea alone made him want to cry. 

It was a shit situation, as simple as that, but as with everything else in his life, he dealt with it as best as he could and continued trying. 

At least his family allowed him to continue working.

 

He doubted he’d be as agreeable to the humiliation otherwise. 


	2. Night Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just another night in Illumi's life.

Illumi’s latest target had led him into a merry chase through the city, which had culminated into the city’s old shipping yard. 

What had served as the major trade center for the city decades ago had transformed into a collection of derelict warehouses and abandoned ships that the scum of the city had taken as their homes and center of operations. 

It was a drug infested, rat-filled, and _disgusting_  place overrun by human filth that only existed because the authorities had long given up in trying to do anything about it.

It was one of Illumi’s most hated places but it was also a perfect hunting ground.

 

If there was somewhere in the city where a corpse, even that of a wealthy businessman, couldn’t raise any eyebrows, it was the shipping yard. 

 

His target, a squirrel looking fifty-something man with barely enough hair to cover the top of his head, was counting on his familiarity with the area to stay hidden. A plan not without its merits, but useless in the face of Illumi’s restless pursue. 

Illumi followed closely, watching as the man hid behind rusted shipping containers and dismantled cars in an attempt to shake off the assassin; He was bad at it too, leaving himself exposed to gunfire under the mistaken assumption that just because he couldn’t see his pursuer, his pursuer couldn’t see him.

It would’ve been so _so_ easy to just shoot the man but, unfortunately, his client had other ideas.

He was to wear a body cam and follow his target, drawing out his impending doom until the client saw fit to give the final order.

A ridiculous request, if he had ever heard one, but a well-compensated one.

 

The chase continued. 

 

With something like amusement, Illumi noted that the man was getting closer to the end of the yard, which greatly reduced his escape possibilities. 

The man could either jump into the frigid waters, a risky move considering there was nothing illuminating the docks, or he could take his chances and try to run past Illumi.

Neither option would work and they both knew it.

As they reached the docks, something caught his attention.

While it wasn’t uncommon to find people in the abandoned ships –indeed, he could see a few vagrants wandering around the deck of an old, half-sunken carrier ship– the bright lights coming out of a small passenger ship certainly were.

The loud cheers coming out of it were even more alarming. A party? A reunion?It didn’t matter. It was an opportunity to escape and his target recognized it as such.

With speed born out of sheer survival, the man sprinted towards the ship, running over an improvised boarding ramp and vanished inside the well-light cabin.

 

Illumi followed. 


	3. Better Luck Next Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A job well done.

The cabin had been stripped clear of furniture and decoration, leaving only the structure behind and making enough space for the dozens and dozens of people gathered there, all standing close together forming a tight circle. 

Men and women alike hooted and cheered as two women fought in the middle, trading punches, kicks and elbows in a vicious attempt to bring the other down. 

 

A fight club? 

 

A laugh coming from his earpiece reminded him that he was still on the job and his target was hiding somewhere in there, so he ignored the fighters in favor of scanning the crowd. 

His eyes landed on a man instead. 

If his height wasn’t enough to catch his attention, the man’s appearance certainly would’ve. With bubblegum pink hair styled in a faux hawk, large hoop earrings and a bright gold cropped jacket, the man was impossible to miss. 

He stood away from the crowd, arms crossed over his broad chest as he looked at the fight… 

No, not the fight. 

 

He was looking at _him_. 

 

A slimy smile spread over the man’s feature when he realized Illumi had caught him staring, but rather than looking away, as Illumi expected, the man winked at him before pointing at some stairs hidden behind a half wall he wouldn’t have noticed just by scanning the crowd. 

Illumi hesitated. 

Why was the man helping him? Was the man a family associate or an enemy? Was he actually helping him or was he leading him into an ambush? 

Illumi looked back at the man, trying to assess the situation, but the pinkhead was no longer interested in him, his eyes fixed on the fighters doing their best to brutalize the other. 

After briefly considering calling for reinforcements, he discarded the idea and ran downstairs, weapon drawn and ready to shoot. 

It was the perfect place for an ambush, yes, but it was also the only place to hide and the longer Illumi took finding his target the more likely the man was to escape, which simply wasn’t an option. 

The lower deck was almost pitch black, the only light coming from the stair openings and small cracks on the ceiling. It still took him no time to find his target as the man attempted to hide in a storage closet. 

He dispatched of him with a bullet to the head, just as instructed, and shoved him deeper into the darkness. 

His silencer had muffled the sound of the shot, though he doubted anyone would’ve heard it regardless over the roar of the crowd; Whatever was happening up there must’ve been interesting.

Disconnecting his body cam and shoving it into his pocket, Illumi verified that the second half of his payment was transferred and fired a quick text to his father, informing him of a job well down. He put away his gun last, made sure the target’s blood hadn’t stained his shoes and went back upstairs, eyes immediately going to where the strange man had occupied and finding it emtpy. 


	4. Sex and Violence.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get bloody.

The man now stood in the middle of the room, stripped of his earrings, jacket and most of his clothes; He stood wearing only white harem pants and regarded the crowd with an amused expression. 

There was blood pooled under his feet, though the rest of him was in pristine condition, so he could only assume the man hadn’t been the one driving the spectators wild. 

The man standing in front of him could only be described as a beast. Barrel-chested, scarred and absolutely massive, he looked like he had born and been bred with fighting and only fighting, in mind.

Though the pinkhead was by no means a small man, it was obvious he was out of his depth. 

The man looked out of place, as simple as that. The clean clothes, the styled hair, the made-up face. It all screamed something, he wasn’t sure of what, but it certainly didn’t scream fighter.

The barrel-chested man seemed to think the same, as he approached the strange man with a mocking grin.e

“You think you can fight, fag?”

The crowd laughed and the man joined them, or at least his _mouth_ did. 

Illumi didn’t miss the way his eyes narrowed dangerously. 

“I know a thing or two.” 

That was the only warning the barrel-chested man got before a carefully manicured hand slammed against his solar plexus, sending him stumbling back a couple of steps. 

To his credit, the barrel-chested man recovered quickly, falling into a fighting stance and throwing a vicious punch, which the pinkhead deflected with his forearm before throwing a punch of his own. 

Standing so close together, Illumi could now see that the fighters were more evenly matched than he had originally assumed. Yes, the barrel chewed man was wider and looked more threatening, with his bulldog neck and tree trunk thighs, but the pinkhead was almost just as big, carrying his weight in a much more pleasant way thanks to his height. A height the fighter clearly had no trouble using to his advantage, as he kept the barrel-chested man at a distance, swatting away punches and delivering punishing front kicks whenever his opponent got too close. 

To the crowd, it looked like he was just stalling, afraid to throw a punch in fear of giving his opponent a proper opening. 

To Illumi, it seemed like the pinkhead was just playing with the man. 

Whatever it was, it enraged the barrel-chested man, who shouted and, throwing all caution to the wind, charged forward, aiming to knock the man to the floor where his weight would come in handy.

 

Like a coiled snake, the pinkhead wasted no time and struck.

 

The man sidestepped quickly and, as if powered by a spring, brought his knee up, slamming it on his opponent’s side with devastating strength.

It was a deceptively graceful move that brought the barrel-chested man down in seconds… or it would’ve, had the pinkhead not interrupted the fall with a knee to the face. 

Followed by another. 

And another. 

It was only when something caved in into the man’s skull with a sickening crunch that the strange man let him go, watching the body crumble to the ground with an almost bored expression. 

 

The crowd was thrilled. 

Illumi was hard. 

 

The strange man stepped away from what was left of his opponent and tried this attention to the shocked crowd. 

“I hope you all enjoying yourselves tonight.” The man said in a smooth voice that carried an accent Illumi couldn’t place. “Of course, now that the main attraction is dead it will be a rather short one…but I hope you all had as much fun as I did. “

 

The room erupted into chaos. 

 

If what the man had said was true, Illumi couldn’t blame them. Weeks of planning and thousands in bets gone straight to hell when what was supposed to be the night’s warm-up turned everything in its head by killing the most promising fighter. 

He needed to get out of there before things got messy. 

Sparing a last glance to the pinkhead, who was leaning over the bookie’s table with a smile equal parts playful and murderous, Illumi left the ship. 


	5. Self Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illumi was losing his goddamned mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Bet you thought you'd seen the last of me
> 
> Honestly, I apologize for leading you on like this. I only write when I'm in a very specific mood, and that thing comes and goes without warning. 
> 
> Also, I write for a living (mostly review, tourism-related articles) and sometimes the last thing I want to do is write, even if it's for my own enjoyment.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for sticking around.

The week that followed was one of the most infuriating in Illumi's life, and that included the time he had been saddled with looking over Killua and his entire team of dirty skateboarding punks. 

 

What made things even more aggravating was the fact that nothing, absolutely nothing, had changed. His days were the same as they had always been, except for the random flashes of bright pink hair, muscled arms, and thighs thick enough to crush his skull bursting into his thoughts without warning. 

 

They'd come and go at random, seemingly brought on by nothing, everything and all there was in between. 

 

Illumi would be choking the life out of a target, and there'd be the fighter, wicked gold eyes glinting with amusement at the spectacle before him. 

 

Washing dried blood off his hands would result in fantasies of thin, pink lips wrapping around his fingers and lapping at the congealed red.

 

A lull in conversation during a family dinner would conjure up images of a tuft of pink hair peeking from under the table as he swallowed Illumi whole. 

 

He had seen the man exactly  _ once _ , and yet his treacherous mind had run off with the image and proceeded to torture him with it. 

 

He was losing his goddamned mind. 

 

Honestly, he'd be half-tempted to go out and kill the man to get him out of his thoughts if not for his rational mind intervening with reminders of the man's potential. 

 

The fight had been short and brutal and, despite the violence of it, nothing but child's play for the pinkhead. Illumi was sure of it; Talent like that was difficult to find, and the thought of channeling that talent to the benefit of his family was more than enough to still his hand. 

 

Illumi had considered bringing up the subject with his family more than once, usually, while he was being criticized for his lack of innitiative. Still, he knew better than to present the idea without any degree of certainty. 

 

Doing so would only earn him more criticism and would result in several questions, which invariably would lead to his father figuring out that Illumi had left a witness alive. 

 

...

 

The realization brought Illumi's thoughts to a grinding halt. 

 

He  _ needed _  to find that man. 


	6. Everybody Wants the Same Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For all his peacocking, the pink-haired fighter clearly didn't want to be found. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consistent chapter lengths and posting times? Haven't heard of those.

One would think it would be easy to find a man whose entire appearance was designed to attract attention, and yet Illumi's search had run into a wall almost as soon as it started. 

 

Part of it, of course, was the secretive nature of the 'sport.' Underground fighting rings with deathmatches were as illegal as Illumi's occupation, and no one wanted even to admit that they knew such things existed.

 

Another aspect that complicated things further was the fact that he couldn't turn to his usual contacts, at least not without alerting Zeno or Silva of his inquiries, which would lead to the conversation he was trying his best to avoid. 

 

Finally, there was the fact that, for all his peacocking, the pink-haired fighter  _ clearly _  didn't want to be found. 

 

Illumi's lack of leads or any knowledge of the man had culminated in his transformation into a frequent patron of the underground fighting scene. While people certainly  _ remembered _  seeing the man fight or remembered fighting him, in the case of a few lucky survivors, no one knew anything of substance. 

 

Nearly a month of inquiries had led only to a name, Hisoka, and that little scrap of knowledge was nowhere near enough to calm Illumi's growing anxiety. 

 

It was as if this  _ Hisoka _  had spawned, fully grown, and formed, out of the deepest corners of his mind to torture him correctly, and he'd be tempted to believe he had been a figment of his overworked brain if not for the impression he left in others. 

 

Slowly but surely, the object of Illumi's unwanted little fantasies was making quite a reputation for himself and yet,  _ and yet _ , no one knew anything of value. 

 

It was as infuriating as it was impressive. 

 

The only positive outcome of the entire ordeal was that, against all odds, Illumi had found a hobby. 

 

He  _ genuinely  _ enjoyed watching people beat each other bloody and, though none of the fighters he had seen were as flashy as Hisoka, Illumi was quickly forming a rooster of potential candidates. 

 

If he couldn't find his preferred fighter –which wasn't an option, he was a witness, so Illumi  _ had _  to find him– he'd at least have something to fall back on.

 

The chosen venue for the night's fight was an abandoned brewery near the city's old cemetery. A much riskier location than the docks, but one protected from prying eyes by overgrown vines and rotting trees. 

 

Even then, the organizers had covered all windows with wooden boards and thick fabrics, keeping the lights in and giving the venue a mockery of elegance. 

 

Unlike other 'venues' Illumi had visited, this one lacked a fighting ring, improvised or otherwise. In its place, the audience gathered around a large hole on the floor and looked down into a small, brightly illuminated room. 

 

Back when the brewery was still working, a humongous tank would've occupied the space, or so Illumi assumed, but now the empty room served as a death pit. One that had been used repeatedly, if the stains of dried blood and the quality of the lights installed were any indication.

 

The fighters, a pair of women with biceps larger than his, were circling each other like caged beasts, shaking with barely contained energy and perhaps some kind of stimulant. 

 

He had seen them fight against other opponents before, and the brutality they both exhibited was the only reason he had attended this match. 

 

Illumi was far from the only one. The crowd was thick that night, men and women plastered against each other as they looked down into the pit; Typically, such close proximity to others would've bothered him, but there was no avoiding it if he wanted to see the fight from up close. 

 

The occasional touches he received did raise his heckles, but he was doing his best to ignore them. At least until a hand came to rest on the small of his back. 

 

"You've been looking for me."

 

Illumi didn't recognize the voice right away, but he didn't need to. Not when there was only one person he had been looking for; It was a good thing too, or else Hisoka would've found himself on the business end of the knife the assassin discretely returned to his pocket. 

 

"If you value your hand, you'll keep it to yourself." Responded Illumi, pointedly keeping his eyes on the pit. It was one thing to allow the man to invade his thoughts; He wouldn't allow him to invade his personal space as well. 

 

Hisoka's hand remained in place for a fraction of a second before retreating, though the man moved even closer. So much so, in fact, that if not for the crowd, he would've been able to feel the man's body heat. 

 

"So?"

 

"So what?"

 

"So what does the eldest Zoldyck wants with little ole me?"

 

Illumi's blood ran cold, and, for a second, the world went completely silent. This man, this...  _ menace _ , had had more luck researching him than the other way around. 

 

He had been so hell-bent in his pursuit and distracted by his thoughts that he didn't think for a second that the curiosity ran both ways, and now the witness he had so foolishly left alive knew entirely too much.  

 

Hisoka needed to die. There was no other option. 


End file.
